


sedn pic of ur weinrer ;)

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dean is bad at sexting, Drunk Dean, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Sexting, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2349803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam hears his phone vibrate one last time and raises his head long enough to look at the dejected sad face before he conks out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sedn pic of ur weinrer ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This was another idea that was hilarious at 4 in the morning and then I made it happen.
> 
> Edited by me and I'm lazy so there's probably a ton of mistakes

 

           Sam’s text alert scares the crap out of him when it goes off. Mostly because he doesn’t remember making his alert a growly moan.

            He picks his phone up off the floor from where he’d accidentally/not-so-accidentally slapped it and checks the text from Dean with an irritable huff.

           txt: sedn pic of ur weinrer ;)

           Sam’s eyebrows crinkle and he takes a skeptical sip of water as he sits back and contemplates the best response. His face is a little warm, mostly because when something had growled by his elbow he’d yelped really loud and started slapping at his phone. 

_txt: First and foremost, no, and secondly, how drunk are you right now and please tell me you aren’t in the car?_

           Sam hits send and sets his phone down, face up, so he can get back to compiling data. He watches the little text bubble out of the corner of his eye, the ‘…’ surprisingly foreboding as a minute slips by.

           Two rapid fire moans and Sam’s face is warm.

           txt: not as drunk as i coudl be send pic of ur weiner plz???? ;)

           txt: course not samym not a complte dillhole

           txt: cant say te same for u

           txt: (:<

           Sam scrubs a hand down his face and eyes the smileys with vague disdain and only a little bit of amusement. Judging by the excessive use of smileys, Sam would hazard a guess that Dean’s drunk enough to warrant concern for his current state of dress but not to worry about him trying to pole dance again.

_txt: Someone doesn’t want a dick pic_

           Sam types back, not really looking while he makes a few notes and barely resists the urge to add his own smiley. He’s a grown man damnit, smileys have no place in adult conversation.

_txt: [: <_

           txt: samy nooo plz be reasonaleble 

           txt: _This is me, being reasonaleble_

           txt: dicccckk ;(((((

           txt: _Which just so happens to be the thing you aren’t going to see any time soon._

           txt: _Have a nice night (:_

           txt: sammy plz! I didtn mean it i swear cmon bab jus one?? pretty pretty plz?

           Sam waits for the attached pic to load and is temporarily disarmed of his bitchiness by the pouting, flushed Dean. Sam cracks a grin even though his brother who is also his boyfriend has gone out drinking for the 3rd time this week.

           Grin taking on a malicious edge, Sam pads barefoot into the kitchen and returns with a hotdog. He positions it just so and snaps a pic. He waits for it to send with a smirk on his face and heads back into the kitchen with his lone wiener. He puts a pan of water on the stove while he waits and drops in 5 hotdogs.

           He waits for the click-click-click of the stove starting up before he turns the dial to medium high and gets out the buns. He snags a can of chili out of the pantry and opens it while the water heats and dumps it into a pan, smooshing it around with a spoon on medium heat.

           Having almost made hotdogs, he returns to files on the Fossegrimen. From what Sam can tell, it’s a seriously chill dude and goes under the category of “Not likely to kill you horribly.”  

           txt: u betert eat that hotdog mister there are starving childrend in places

           Dean gets a video of him viscously biting the end off a cooked hotdog a few minutes later. If Dean were less drunk he’d have cringed, but he’s pretty damn drunk and instead he just appreciates the shape of Sam’s mouth and the way his lips part around the hotdog.

           txt: yeah u eat that hotdog ;)))

           Sam snorts when he taps the video and Dean winks hugely at him, the sounds of a crowded bar blurbling in the background. He forks his hotdogs onto buns, spoons the chili on and heads back to the table, hotdogs in hand.

            He shouldn’t be eating 5 hotdogs, but sometimes you just gotta eat 5 hotdogs at midnight.

            There’s not much space, but he makes room and picks a hotdog off the crowded plate. It isn’t until he’s halfway through it and his hands are covered in chili that he realizes that he forgot napkins.   

           He shimmies out of his chair, hands up by his head, and heads back into the kitchen. He grabs a stack of napkins and definitely doesn’t flinch when his phone growls at him 5 times in a row.

           txt: sammy show me ur hotgod ;D

           txt: hotdog

           txt: hotdug

           txt: HOT DOG

           txt: show it to me

           Sam washes his hands and grabs his phone. He sends Dean a picture of his chili dogs and digs back in.

           txt: did u set the kitchen on fire again?

           txt: its okay if u did :)

           txt: _I didn’t but thanks?? kitchen’s fine but I ate all the hot dogs_

           txt: im jus glad ur eatingn ill get more an u can eat those to [:

           Sam’s weirdly touched by that. He cleans up and decides to call it a night, leaving his files where they are and flicking off lights as he heads to Dean’s room. He clicks on the lamp when he gets there and unbuttons his shirt. He tosses it over the desk chair and pulls off his undershirt, which he drops on the floor.

           Dean’s room is as neat as ever and Sam takes a second to move all the things on Dean’s dresser over by 4 inches. He misaligns the guns on Dean’s walls before he flops onto Dean’s neatly made bed.

           Dean’s room smells like him, and the apple pie candle he usually has burning on the dresser, and Sam just sits there for a few minutes breathing it in.  Eventually he shimmies out of his pants and kicks under the covers, enjoying the murmur of cool sheets.

           It’s gonna be a bitch getting to sleep without Dean snugged against his back and he considers taking something. The sheets are warm though and he doesn’t feel like getting up. He’s just starting to drift when his phone moans at him.

           Sam groans back and thumps his head against the pillow.

           txt: send pic of ur wiener ;))

           Sam seriously considers sending him a pic of his completely flaccid dick but decides against it. With an aggrieved sigh, he drops his phone on his chest and drags a hand lightly down his stomach.

           The tentative touch makes goose-bumps spring up and he pulls Dean’s blankets higher up his chest. He hooks his thumbs inside his boxers and pulls them halfway down his thighs, more irritated than aroused by this point. He wraps a hand around his dick, feels the hot weight of it against his palm, and strokes himself lazily.

           The first pump sends a jitter of arousal up his spine and the second pulls a quiet groan up from low in his throat. Fingers tight like he likes it, Sam teases himself to hardness, occasionally thumbing his head.

            He keeps at it, a bead of pre-come shining slick on his tip, and then he snaps a pic that would make his college photography teacher proud. The text sends with a happy little ‘woop’ and Sam settles in to wait, hand moving over his length while slow heat builds up in his hips.

           txt: sammy r u in my bed?? ;o

           txt: _Yep._

           Sam digs his heels in and thrusts up into his hand. He drags his nail up his ribcage, gasps a little at the sharp sting, and rolls his nipple between his fingers.

           txt: i’ll drive a hundreded miles an hour to ur house

           txt: _Our house, but you’re gonna walk to a motel and sleep until you’re less stupid._

           txt: that could take a while sammy

           txt: what about baby????? :’(

           Sam shakes his head and teases his nipple with his thumbnail. It takes him a second to text back, considering one of his hands is otherwise occupied, but he manages after some fumbling.

           txt _: Yeah, you should probably stay there the rest of the week._

           txt _: Guess she’s gonna have to sit until you sober up, ‘cause I’m not getting out tonight._

           txt: that’s cold sammy ice cold

           txt: _So is waking up from your nap and realizing that your brother is out getting hammered again. Why can’t you just do it at home?? Like a normal person???????_

            He might have gone a little overboard with the question marks.

           txt: sorry sammy :C

           txt: goin to the motel

           txt: thans for showing me ur hotdig c;

           txt: dug

           txt: dogg :{(

           txt: _What kind of face is that??_

           txt: the best kind ({; look it has a littel moustgache

           Sam laughs, warm and husky despite how pissed off he is with the current situation, and texts back.

           txt: _It’s a very nice moustache now go to bed you ass_

He doesn’t get a reply for a few minutes and figures Dean’s either made it to a motel or passed out in a gutter when his phone goes off.

           txt: at tge motel now in my room thinkin of you C]:

           txt: handlebar sammy its a handlebar!

           txt: also i have a boner

           Sam’s laughing harder than he wants to be and he has to stop touching himself altogether because his eyes are watering and his ribs kind of hurt. He’s still stupid hard even though he’s almost crying with laughter.

           txt: _You’re one smooth criminal Dean, now I know why you get all the ladies_

           txt: don’t need all the ladies sam I got yoyu

           For a few seconds Sam’s profoundly touched. Then he gets the triple winkie face and the dick pic and feels considerably less touched.

           To be fair, it’s a pretty great dick pic. The lighting isn’t that good and Sam can tell which motel Dean’s at by the comforter that’s bunched between his spread knees, but it’s a decent picture.

            Sam sets his phone up so it’s resting against Dean’s pillow where he can see it and rolls over onto his stomach, dick bumping against Dean’s sheets and making him hiss quietly.

           Dean’s tip is slick and flushed red and Sam presses his lips together as he follows the slight curve of Dean’s dick all the down to where Dean’s fingers are wrapped tight around the base. Sam feels less like laughing when his mouth goes dry and his dick gives an interested twitch.

           He feathers his fingers over his inner thigh; light, delicate touches that perk him right up and make his breath catch. He cups his balls and drags his hand up from there, fingers in a tight circle around as he squeezes up.

           It’s a semi-rough slide until he reaches his head and slicks his palm with pre-come. The downward stroke is much easier and he takes his sweet time, wringing the pleasure from himself like he knows Dean would.

           Dean with his calloused, scarred hands. Hands that know just where to touch to have Sam on his knees in a matter of seconds. He tries to imitate the twist and flick motion Dean is the master of and has to clamp his fingers down around himself.

           It takes a minute of harsh breathing and too sharp shocks of arousal, but eventually the pleasure ebbs and Sam’s free to dig the lube out of Dean’s bedside table. He slicks up two fingers and rubs them against his entrance, tensing up a little at the cold touch of lube. He relaxes as the lube warms and starts to work the first finger in, pressing in little by little and easing off when the burn gets too intense.

           Still on his stomach, he brings up the camera and positions it so Dean has a good view of his blown pupils and his flushed cheeks. He slides his finger in up to the second knuckles and then eases back out to add another, still working himself slowly.

           He boops the record the button carefully his nose and then buries his fingers deep. His back bows a little and a ragged groan pours out of his mouth as he fucks back onto his fingers. He keeps at it, opening himself up while heated sounds slip through his teeth.

           It isn’t until he’s three fingers deep that his orgasm starts to build again, starting low in his belly and burning brighter from there. He’s teetering on the brink of it when he buries his fingers as deep as he can and thrusts into the circle of his hand.

            He distantly notes that the video beeps at him, signaling that it’s stopped, right before he comes, but he figures Dean shouldn’t get to have his cake and eat it too.

           He rolls his hips forward into the tight circle of his hand and then rocks back onto his fingers, face buried in Dean’s pillow as hot splashes of come coat his hand and soak Dean’s sheets.

            Little spots of white dot his vision as his muscles clench down tight around his fingers, milking his orgasm for all it’s worth as he collapses on the bed. Stomach muscles trembling, breath coming in pants, he pulls his fingers free and grips Dean’s sheets as he winds down.

           When he can breathe again and his vision stops spotting, he wipes hand off on his chest and blearily sends Dean a text.    

           txt: _And I got you. Come home tomorrow, and try not to smell like a public toilet, and maybe we’ll finish this_

           He sends the video off with a satisfied grin and wipes himself off with the surprisingly high thread-count sheet. He kicks it to the foot of the bed when he’s done and then rolls out of the wet spot with a tired groan. Smirking sleepily, he pulls the comforter up to his chin, clicks off the bedside lamp and puts his phone on vibrate.

            He sends one last text and then curls up on his side, eyelids heavy.

           txt: _Night Dean (:_

           His phone vibrates by his ear but he dutifully ignores it.

           txt: sammy?

           txt: sammy nooooo

           txt: have mercy 

           txt: sammy???

           Sam hears his phone vibrate one last time and raises his head long enough to look at the dejected sad face before he conks out.

           txt: D’:

 


End file.
